A Boot in the Trossachs

Last weekend it was up to the Trossachs for the Stuc a' Chroin hill race definitely my favourite hill race. It has special memories for me since it was my very first hill race back in 1998. I was convinced, by a few hillwalking mates who had dipped their toes into the mysterious world of going-up-hills-even-faster-in-a-competitive-manner, that it would be a good idea to just turn-up in my road shoes with a bum-bag borrowed from my Dad which he got so he wouldn't look like a tourist whilst on holiday in the USA. It was a lovely sunny day, as it always is for the Stuc, I remember the summit never coming, then when it did, wondering how I was going to get back down. I remember losing any power left in my legs just before the last chin-scraping climb and fighting off cramp all the way up it, then getting to the top of the two mile track to the finish and being in such pain all the way down. When I got home I felt too ill to eat and went straight to bed. I've been hooked ever since.



So for the 11th year, (I missed one due to a dislocated shoulder) with a car full of eager Hillbillies, I was battling back up through Callandar, fighting my way through the cars filled with excited bank holiday-ers on the hunt for the Trossachs' best bargain tartan blanket and matching fridge magnet. This years journey was without incident, unlike last year when I was spectacularly pulled over in the main street packed with thimble hunters after stopping about 5 miles south of Callander and taking a slash in a bush. Sherlock Holmes read me the riot act whilst blocking all traffic heading north and probably caused fridge magnet sales to hit an all-time low for a good ten minutes, it's reassuring to know they're on the ball though.

We quickly registered, picked up our souvenir mugs and got ourselves to the start line. It was a huge field this year because the race was included in the British Championship, there was runners from all over the UK here and I saw a few familiar faces like IainR who had ran the Fling last week too. Once we got going I took the pace nice and easy until the track levelled out then I tried to push on a bit to get a decent spot before the field narrowed into single file for some of the climbs. The 1500 foot climb up Ben Each was as hard as always with everyone nose to tail climbing up through the rough heather then when it eventually levels out a bit the legs are so thrashed it's hard to get some running rythmn going again. I felt fine on the climbs but I really lacked strength on the descents and my brain seemed to be lagging a bit behind my legs today which wasn't good with such tricky terrain to negotiate. I made sure I took on water each time I passed the marshalls because it was quite warm and I was sweating buckets. Up to the summit then a big effort to hold it together on the descent to Glen Ample before the chin-scraping, quad busting climb back up again. As I hit the track I could see I was catching fellow Carnegie clubmate Pete so I pushed on and passed him and made the finish-line with about 100 yards on Pete, but missing a pb by a mere 16 seconds.

We were both trashed at the end with Pete writhing around on the ground with cramp, so the only cure was 10 minutes sitting in the freezing river. The Hillbillies came down too but thought the river was for washing in and just looked at me strangely as I sat submerged talking of the therapeutic benefits I would be reaping in the morning....

Highland Fling Race Report by 2nd placed Scott Bradley

I've managed to persuade Highland Fling runner-up and Carnegie club-mate Scott Bradley to let me put his race report on the blog, it's inspirational stuff, here it is :-

Here's my longest log entry ever...

Saturday 25th April PB - Montane Highland Fling Race 2009

For me the excitement started well before the race – probably about Wednesday in fact, when it finally sunk in that in a few days I’d be attempting to run a relatively stupid distance along the West Highland Way. Friday night was fun, final preparations with my dad, deciding what to put in each “drop-bag” labelled Balmaha, Rowerdennan, Inversnaid and Beinn Glas. I was trying to imagine how crap I was going to feel at each of these places, what fuel I could cope with (or more optimistically, crave!). I soon realised I had absolutely no idea so gave myself a fairly wide selection in each (from obvious choices such as energy gels to wacky alternatives like honey-roasted peanuts and crisps). On the day it was my stomach that would choose and a fussy bugger it was too.

Getting up at 3:50am on Saturday was the worst part of the whole adventure, but a couple of hours later, arriving at the Milngavie Station carpark on this still and misty Saturday morning, the pre-coffee grogginess was overcome with excitement (and coffee). What a pleasant morning to start out on a long journey – no nasty wind, cold nor rain. Not bad for West-coast Scotland in April. Caught some of that pre-race energy from all the other runners, a buzz of nerves and anticipation. Watched the girls & the vets set off at 6am, time seemed to accelerate from that point on – I was queuing for a portaloo when the whilste was blown for the pre-race muster. In the end I had to run from the portaloo to the car, grab the way-too-shiny-for-this Camelbak, negotiate the trackie-bottoms past the shoes then get to the start.

And so off we go jogging through the mall then out into the park, and within that first mile a pack started to form ahead and I decided I wanted to be part of it. Dropped back briefly for a chat with Duncan McGougan then very slowly caught them back up, relishing the chance to run in a group at a pace where it’s possible to enjoy the scenery! Already I was hooked – this is what I had hoped Ultras would feel like, or at least the first part of them, cruising along and enjoying the journey and company of other runners as I watched the misty scenery of Strathblane glide seemingly effortlessly by. Clearly it was mindless-optimisim to expect it to feel that way to the end, but I figured the wheels would come off when they came off, tough shit I wasn't going to ruin the moment by worrying about it now. Id run through Strathblane once before with Gail & Co on a gorgeous frosty morning last January - everything coated in hawfrost. Today it looked very different, but equally gorgeous. One image sticks in my head now - a mirror-like Loch with mist hovering over it, pine forest poking out of the mist, weak sunshine hitting the hillside behind.

Had the MP3 with me, never used it. Had the garmin on, never looked at it (until the finish), had no idea of the pace or time at any point and good job too it might have psyched me out (I was sub-7min/miling in places en-route to Drymen). I was wearing an old pair of Nike Zoom Elite road shoes instead of the trail shoe's I'd invested in and worn only once before. Never really felt right in them, and didn't like the stupid studs on the bottom, I found I kept catching roots and rocks with them probably due to my adopted marathon-runner's shuffle.

Started chatting to Kenny Valentine along the old railway line in Strathblane, miles seemed to be flying by. The lead group was about 100m ahead, I didn't realise Jez was amongst them until Kenny pointed him out, actually I had no idea that was the leading pack at all as I had assumed Jez had flown off ahead after some chap that had set off at 10k pace. Oh well, again didn't let that psyche me out the pace still felt easy. After a couple more miles the marathon-running mentality took over again though and I started to very carefully close the gap on that lead group and drag Kenny alongwith. We hit the tarmac (yee ha!) the gap was now closing way too quickly but what the hell, top of the second rise and I had rejoined the pack and got a wee buzz from it. My next thought was "My God we're in that field near Drymen already!". I didn't know how long we'd been running for but it didn't feel long at all (and yet somehow I've still managed to write half a book about it).

Unfortunately my inexerpience let me down at Drymen, I didn't realise they had a water supply for runners there and went right through. So I found myself running alone about 10 yards behind Jez who also hadn't stopped, perhaps he has a camel impant, or more likely a super efficient back-up team or drop-bag and had acquired a replacement wastpack pre-filled with water. Not to worry, my legs still felt like I was just starting out on my morning jog to work, and I observed how keen the rest of the pack was to get back in front of me so I let them and had a sneaky powergel, leaving the others to open those annoying gates for me up into the forest. I noted I was feeling strong on the hills, but held back. Jez darted off for a piss and I saw a couple of the others respond by stretching it out a bit, again I left them to it. As soon as I hit the downhill before Conic Hill, gravity took over and I was almost-accidentally back with the leaders. When Conic Hill finally appeared ahead it was lit beautifully in weak morning sunshine, at which point I realised I was really looking forward to climbing it! What a pervert! My God what was happening today? Perhaps just one of those rare lucky days when everything just feels right and in tune? Anyway, whilst I spent the next half-mile fighting with a packet of jellybabies (and losing), the green top of Allan Smalls began to move quickly ahead up onto the moorland. I stuck to my slower pace (now trying to extract jelly babies having made an inadequate small hole in the plastic) and as the other two came past as if to chase Allan I was wondering where the hell Jez was.

Jez was "conserving" it seemed. Which is also what I was doing without really realising - my mantra for today was "run at whatever pace you can still enjoy". It was a very simple mantra, it matched my goal for the day, and it obviously worked really well for me. As soon as I hit a prolonged gradient (an extreme example being Conic Hill) I'd find myself working hard, the enjoyment would drop, I would drop pace accordingly and therefore I was cruising and enjoying myself again. Besides, I'm usually very strong on descents and I knew this.

Right enough as soon as I was over the crest beyond the Saltire Flag I let gravity take me back to the leading pack, forgetting a couple of times I wasn't wearing mudclaws and having a few Nike Zoom moments, but no harm done I got down to Balmaha at the same time as the others, and Lynne was standing there she gave me a real boost simply by saying "You're doing really, really well!". I replied "Yeah until the wheels come off", my expectation was that this would happen somewhere between here and Rowardennan, but I'd had so much fun today already I didn't care, I'd just deal with that when I had to. For now I had to hunt for my bloody drop-bag. Where the hell is it? Ah that's it. Now I had to get water in the shiny camelbak. Help! And some lucozade sport. Let's also try a Kelloggs Nutragrain (and let's not try a Kellogs Nutragrain again - yuk). Eventually got going again but only to find my camelbak pouring water on me. Another minute went by as I fumbled with the screw-cap for a while, and much to my surprise Jez had only just appeared at Balmaha, again with his camel implant he seemed to go straight through and so I tagged onto him and here started my education of how the master does it. I got such a buzz from this, what freaking right did I have to be here on the West Highland Way running with the legend himself? His pacing was excellent as well, I didn't need to rely on my mantra for the hills cos he just walked up them gently. We ran like this all the way over the multitude of sharp rises and falls that exist along this section of Loch Lomond, and I loved every minute of it. I've done a few training runs along here before and found those lumps surprisingly tough going, but today felt easier than any of those for some reason. Jez darted off for a pit-stop and I said "Good idea" and did the same, but when I noticed his pit-stop was a bit less simple than mine I decided not to wait and head on gently. Actually I got to Rowardennan and he hadn't caught me, but as I was doing my usual 2min camelbak faff beside my drop-bag (and being very grateful for those wonderful helpers at the drop stations), Jez did his usual and stormed straight by. He was out of sight by the time I got going again. I reckoned that was the last I'd see of him anyway. Not to worry. I was now running up the prolonged uphill along a wide forest track, passing the occasional 6am starter and exchanging encouraging banter (what a great attitude everyone has!), twice I had to tell myself to ease off.

I was in 4th place at this time, but didn't really think about that, there was way too far to go and my main aim was get to Inversnaid as comfortably as possible. I soon realised a 7am starter was ahead judging by the relative speed. As I gained on him I recognised his top from earlier, Andy Rankin (Thinking back now, the speed with which I caught him suggests I was probably pushing myself too hard along this section). I came alongside and started chatting. At this point we came alongside Mike Thompson who must have recognised my voice as he looked over and shouted. It was a great boost to see a familiar face, he pointed out that Jez was only about 2 minutes ahead (and has since told me that on hearing this I started to pull away from Andy - was there some crazy subconcious ambitious racer lurking beneath my mantra? It was subconcious if so, but I won't deny it). Off on my own again, but still feeling good. I got onto the rocky singletrack and enjoyed its wee ups and downs, Allan Smalls came into view ahead, seemingly going through a bad patch and I came past and said hello but at this point we were moving at very different speeds. Descending down to the bothy, my legs still didn't mind the abuse. Finally saw Inversnaid ahead and as I started climbing up to the bridge beneath the waterfall and I saw Jez for the first time in a while, he had just descended the steps and was into the carpark. Again I have to commend the efficiency of the crew here at the drop-bag station, really appreciated it. When I started to run again I half expected my legs to feel like concrete, but thankfully they were still happy. Great. The "mental section" by Loch Lomond was ahead, and my frame of mind was to look forward to it rather than fear it. Sure enough I enjoyed the gnarliness (don't care if that word doesn't exist, it seems appropriate), just got stuck in, ducking branches, swinging my weight over rocks, plenty to keep my mind busy. Although I can't deny the relief I felt when I hit the turfy flat section near the end of the loch.

First sign of fatigue finally got to me as I hit the ascent up the hill before Ben Glas. It was just a warning sign, and if I'd read it I might have saved myself a wee bit of trouble in the latter miles, but nevermind I ran all the way up that hill (I bet Jez was smarter and walked a couple bits) and enjoyed the rush of reaching the top knowing it was downhill to Ben Glas. As usual I waited until I had an audience (couple of walkers) before going head-over-arse on a rock. Got down to Ben Glas and loved the cheering supporters there - I was asked "How come you look so fresh?" and I don't care if everyone else after me was asked the same, it was another wee boost! Here was my biggest mistake today though - not filling the camelbak fully. I underestimated how far it was to Tyndrum from here (the ascent up Glen Falloch drags the distance out significantly especially when your legs have done 40+ miles). My stomach hadn't been interested in solid food and I had a single gel left. Oops.

I set off from Ben Glas and slowly the enjoyment began to fade. The scene ahead was bleak - yellow tussock grass with a wide landrover track that wanted to go uphill in a succession of sharp rises. My mindset changed. I was no longer here to enjoy myself. I was now in a race. There hadn't been one moment in the whole day that I thought I might be able to keep up with Jez - and I think that's a good thing given the circumstances. However, it occurred to me that here I was, in 2nd place, with only 10 miles to hold-out. Yes, racing mode was engaged and now I was concentrating really hard on keeping moving, without panicing, trying to find the optimal speed now, not the optimal enjoyment. I didn't dare glace behind me, not until I got to the rise before the bridge at Derrydarroch when I chanced a brief look back down Glen Falloch. You can see literally for miles behind, and I didn't see anyone. Relief. Are you sure? Another glance, a few dots noticed, perhaps one of them is... I got a nice clap as I came to the bridge, and another one as I came up the nasty rise to the A82. "Which way?" I shouted, "up here?" I asked as I started going up a dirt track onto the old road. They nodded and beckoned me on excitedly as if I was about to miss a departing train. That's kind of how it felt at this time. Don't blow it son. You've done really well. But don't blow it. Oh the joy.

Managed not to decapitate myself using the dwarve's tunnel under the A82, then straight onto the sharp slope where I told myself "Jez will have walked this so you should too." I think I was learning the bloody psychology of ultra running. At this point I noticed my camelbak was empty. I had taken my last gel. I was in trouble now. And it was uphill to the forest. I looked ahead, the cow track seemed to stretch uphill for miles ahead. In the distance I saw a white dot moving towards the forest at the top. That was the last I would see of Jez until the finish-line. But at least I saw him. I got to the kissing-gates into forest myself about 7 minutes later (pure guess), suddenly realising how ridiculous it was to be wearing a helly hansen on this warm sunny day. I didn't need my mantra to tell me to walk up the steep hill after the gate, there was no longer any choice. Yet there was positivity still there, I'd turned "the corner" and was on "the final straight" as far as I was concerned. Downhill all the way to the road and the river I thought. (Liar!). After riding the rollercoaster trail through the forest and emerging at the A85 I could swear I was smiling again. Bad timing (or perhaps good) as I was forced to stand at the roadside watching half of Scotland's holiday traffic follow a caravan towards Tyndrum. Then through the horses field and over the bridge, I was moving smoothly again now the gradient was level. I will never forget that wee boy at Auchentyre Farm standing out there on his own to shout encouragement at the crazy runners coming by, "Excellent running!" he said, and in my fatigued state it was almost emotionally moving. Through the farm, more nice support, then onto tarmac. Tarmac! You have no idea how my Nikes responded to that - I swear I was sub 7min/miling. I was flying. As I crossed the A85 for the last stretch to Tyndrum, having glanced behind enough to know I was still 2nd, my glee was suddenly replaced by paranoia that I was going to throw my achievement away by drowning in the 6 inch deep river or braining myself on a tree.

As if on queue, I had my first cramp on the final sharp rise after crossing the river. "Not now" I said alloud. "Nearly there". I had to focus on shifting my stride pattern slightly and relaxing my legs, I was seriously dehydrated (the brown urine an hour ago said as much) and so the cramp could easily bring me to a standstill. (Addendum: its now Thurs night as I type this and I still carry an injury in the right calf which I suspect may have happened during that cramp). Thankfully my leg responded positively. And so over the bare hillside by the old lead mine and into the trees by the river. Wow. I'd freakin well done it. Past "By the Way" cabins, up to a style. "What's your number?" I was asked. "Three, zero, six" I shouted, remembering the instructions in the briefing doc. Then onwards down the trail to the final 1 inch-deep river I might drown in, looked up, and my God there's the flags ahead (Richie Cunningham's bouncy castle), and that's the finishing straight. There are the people waiting to welcome me back to the real world. I was definately smiling now. There's photos to prove it. And so I finished, and finished in a very unexpected time. I looked at my garmin for the first time since the start. 7:33 it said. It meant nothing to me at the time, it means a lot more to me now of course. But forget that. The most important thing about today was how much enjoyment I got from running those 53miles - and I'm talking about the actual "doing" here, not just basking in the "having done". As I said in my "thank-you" email to Murdo and Ellen, this was a day of fond memories that will stay with me hopefuly forever. (if not partly thanks to this ridiculously long log entry).

Scott Bradley 2009

And Now For Something Completely Different

Tonight I decided to take the Pink Panther for a spin through to Kinross for the 10k. A few squirts of lube juice, pumped up the tyres and we were off. She was loving it, the first time she's been out the garage this year!


The Pink Panther (yeah, yeah I need to tidy the garage...!)

I thought I'd just use the 10k as a tempo session for this week but yep, you guessed it, I couldn't resist racing it! It was pretty painful to start with, going at that pace, and when I glanced at my watch for the first time and there was only 10 minutes gone I had to double check I hadn't pressed stop by mistake. After that I just got my head down and started to feel pretty good about half way, even taking a few places.

I wasn't the only nutter there either, my clubmate and fellow Flinger Sid James also ran and finished just a few steps behind me. We're a hardy bunch us Carnegies!

I finished in 30th place in 38:34 which probably means I've no hope of a pb at Stuc a Chroin on Saturday but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it!

A massive spread of cakes awaited us at the end but unfortunately I had no lights on the Pink Panther so I just rammed my mouth full of cake and left... apologies for my terrible manners.

I must also mention all the comments on the Fling report and say thanks to everybody, it's very much appreciated that you take the time to read my nonsense!

Flings Can Only Get Better...

... And they do! In every respect, and even a pb every year for me, what more could you want?!

As I said in my preview post I wasn't sure if I was going to suffer because of all the big mileage I've been putting in and in the end I don't think I did, but I don't think it's improved me much either... yet, it's all miles in the bank for the West Highland Way race in June, that's the plan.

The Highland Fling has got to be the best value race in the calender. It is superbly organised and is run over a course which tests a whole range of skills, with the flat and fast 13 miles to Drymen, the very technical sections up Loch Lomond and the hilly miles at the end. This means that judging your pace is really important and also a bit tricky. Go out too fast and you'll pay dearly later on, as I found out. I think if I'd dropped my pace a fraction up to Drymen I'd have been much stronger on the Loch-side, something to remember for WHW.

The new system of staggered starts was implemented this year with the Ladies and Super-Vets going out an hour earlier which meant we got to hunt down women and old people to get to the beer and stovies first at the finish. This turned out to be really good with loads of encouragement from everyone I passed and seeing friendly faces gave a real boost at some of the low points.

For me, there was a few of those.

My stomach was bad from the start, and just got worse as the race went on, with numerous pit stops in the woods giving temporary respite, but the worst thing was I just couldn't eat. I think I ate about 6 gels and some sweets on the 53 miles along with my energy drinks which sloshed around in my stomach like a washing machine on full spin cycle, all I could think about for most of the race was crossing the finish line and having a real good spew!

That wasn't to be though.

The Crazy German had other ideas as, with about 5 miles to go he overtook looking fresh as a gänseblümchen. I already had swapped places with Iain R about 20 times in the race and he wasn't for letting go so potentially I could drop another place and who knows, were the cavalry fast approaching from behind? So, I decided it was now or never, let go on the descent to the A82, passed the Crazy German, and hoped I could keep the pace going to the finish. I never saw anyone behind me after that, and believe me I had a few glances over my shoulder, and managed to hang on until the river just before the end where I started to cramp up quite badly but the sight of the bouncy castle spurred me on and by the time I realised it wasn't a bouncy castle I was finished. The energetic finish had, ironically, sorted my stomach out so it wasn't long before I was enjoying the complimentary stovies and beer. A pb of 8:18 and 1st team prize rounded off a great day.

Thanks to Murdo, Ellen all involved in the organisation, to Debbie and Silke for the encouragement and to all the other runners and supporters for making it a great day on the trails, also to the club who generously put me up in the bunkhouse and provided a great feed as well!

Report on Scottish Athletics Website

The Highland Fling - Preview

Saturday is the Highland Fling Race, 53 miles on the West Highland Way. This will be the third time I've ran it, in 2007 I ran 8:44, then in 2008 I dropped that to 8:23 in really wet conditions (and also stopped to take my shoe off and patch up a blister) so this year I'm hoping it's going to stay dry with no hitches and I can make it 3 PB's in a row. I've ran a lot of mileage in the last few months so maybe that will catch up on me later in the race, but I think I've got it right with the build-up... I'll soon find out!! I'll update via Twitter when I get finished.

There's going to be a mens team from Carnegie for the first time in the Fling so hopefully we can all do well, so, good luck to everyone taking part and remember to save me a fishcake supper in the chippy.....

(The Morning After) The First Big Weekend of the Summer

4 Days, 180 miles, approx 26 000' ascent/descent and a few calories consumed

Bleary-eyed I looked out from under the bedcovers. Clothes lay in a heap where they'd fallen as I'd chucked them off and staggered into bed. A top with jam stains and chocolate milk spilt all down the front, snot stains on the sleeves. Trousers too with chocolate milk dribbled down a leg. A long dead camel-bak with all the life sooked out of it peaking out from under cover of a rucksack. A pair of tatty looking shoes betraying my route home. I staggered out of bed, still feeling the effects in my legs and the memories of what I'd been doing slowly started to come back to me. I'd sunk a whole lot of miles far too quickly and on an empty stomach, but no it wasn't that... it was that last mile that did it... it was a bad one, I'm sure of it.

This is what a Big Weekend is, no peering out to look at an old pizza box and inspecting my muddy shoes to try and work out how I got home... oh no! A Big Weekend is something completely different now. The morning after is now about mouldy camel-baks and congealed fruit pastilles in a stinky bum-bag. About being woken up not by a thumping head but a rumbling tummy and running, not to the bathroom to puke, but to the kitchen to get some food in before I start to feel rough.

Milngavie's got a lot to answer for I thought as I jogged through the pedestrian shopping area at about 10.30am on a Saturday morning. I looked pretty mad, like some sort of MDS reject who got lost on the way, but I'm used to it so I barely noticed the stares and the old wifies running for cover. I had a plan. Problem was I hadn't stuck to it. I was about 2 1/2 hours late in leaving the car but I just put that to the back of my mind and adopted my usual attitude of "it'll all work out in the end" anyway I'm sure I'd packed my torch.

My legs were stiff and sore because I'd had a hard session the day before, so it was all pain and rubbish running all the way to the top of Loch Lomond. I had arranged to meet Lucy in Tyndrum at about 6pm because she was also up training in the area, and there was no way I was going to make it so I thought I'd better phone and let her know. The conversation went roughly as follows...

"I'm at the top of the Loch and its going to be about 2 1/2 hours before I make Tyndrum"

"Oh, ok. I could come and give you a lift if you like?"

" No, I couldn't do that... I have to do the whole thing"

"Ok, so you think about 2 1/2 hours?"

"Yes"

"Are you sure you don't want a lift?"

"Ok, when can you get here??"

Yes, Mr Weakwilled bailed out 10 miles short! Ah well, the guy at the bothy cheered me up as I passed when he asked me if I could spare him a cigarette!! I know I wasn't looking too healthy at the time but what the...!

Day 2 was going to be different though because I was meeting up with the WHW training group to run up to Fort William. This meant I'd have some company and they would also pull me a long a bit. It didn't really work out that way because I was just too slow, they were looking for a good fast training run and I had the next two days on my mind so it was a bit of a mis-match. It was good to chat with the guys for the first few miles and also to meet some of them for the first time, but for most of the run I was chasing dots in the distance. It was great to finally get into Fort Bill though, I'd had a list of things I was going to eat lined up so I made my way straight to Tesco on the High Street... and you guessed it, they closed 5 minutes before I got there along with just about everywhere else. I was saved by the Chinese though, where I unwrapped my curried chips as soon as I was outside and ate them walking along the road to the B&B. Once I was in and showered I then ordered a delivery, a 12" pizza, chips and pakora, inhaled the lot and was soon off to sleep... only to wake up in the night and eat all the biscuits I had left. What a night of debauchery!

So Day 3, and with a belly full of porridge, toast and tea I walked into town to meet Victor who was going to run to Tyndrum with me. We got to Morrisons and surprise surprise, I was starving so I nipped in and bought four cakes, a bar of chocolate, some chocolate milk and one of these canned latte drinks. I had scoffed the lot by the time Victor had parked the car and so fuelled up again we headed to the start of the way. We soon got going at a good pace and in no time we were in Kinlochleven and down to the Co-Op for supplies. A couple of bags of crisps, chocolate bar, chocolate milk and 2 bottles of Coke later (Victor had some food too!) we were off again on the big climb out. I felt great at this point and ran the whole climb, getting to the top and keeping the pace going but it wasn't to last, by the time I reached Kingshouse the wheels were off and I had to go into the hotel for some more crisps and coke. The weather had turned a bit crappy by the time I left and it was a drizzly mist blowing in my face all the way over Rannoch Moor that really got me down. With about 36 miles down I plodded into Bridge of Orchy station and sheltered in the underpass guzzling the last of the biscuits, Victor appeared having come back to look for me and we set off again. I was determined to keep a meaningful pace going because this was the whole point of the run, to train myself to really keep it going when my body was in bits. So I was quite pleased to maintain the pace all the way to Tyndrum being mindful that I still had 53 miles to go the next day so I had to keep something in reserve. So, like all true Scottish athletes the only thing left to do was get to the chippy before it shut, and we only just made it, getting a fishcake supper to go and then it was off to the bunkhouse for food and sleep.

Day 4 started in the Green Welly stocking up on biscuits and Coke then Victor headed north back to Fort Bill and I started on the 53 mile run south to Milngavie. After about 6 miles or so I reached the hilly section near Crianlarich and the miles really started to take their toll, the climbs seemed to go on forever and the boggy section higher up was a real pain (literally!). As I came past Derrydarroch Farm my thoughts started to drift towards the shop at Beinglas and Snickers bars, coffee, maybe even ice cream... not far now. So as I rounded the building and saw the shop all closed up you can imagine my disappointment! I consoled myself with some now broken and bashed biscuits and some watery coke mixture and started to dream of the Inversnaid Hotel a good 8 or so very rough and rugged miles away. The weather was very nice now with the sunshine quite warm, I passed by the bothy again, had a look inside and who should be sitting there but the cigarette man from the other day! We had a short chat then I carried on dreaming of refreshments at Inversnaid. By the time I got there it was quite busy with a coach load of oldies milling around and the sound of Pandrops being munched was definitely to be heard... I pushed my way into the bar to be kept waiting for ages before getting just as awful service as on the way up (at least they're consistent) but I was happy to be leaving with my supplies. I quickly inhaled a sandwich, then was off down the loch again. It's really surprising how different it all looks going the other way and also with such tired legs, the endless boulders, tree-roots and undulating trail kept me well entertained (!) all the way to my next pit stop at Rowardennon, where I stopped briefly for a fill up of the camel-bak and a couple of bags of crisps then it was off on the final 27 miles. I tried not to think about it but I'd been going for a very long time and 27 miles was still a long way, just keep moving forward and keep the pace "meaningful" that was my mantra. The rugged outcrops just before Balmaha weren't as bad as I'd built them up to be in my mind and I was soon on Conic Hill in the warm evening sun. That was tough. It was a real slog on tired legs all the way up but it was nice to chat to a couple of walkers who cheered me up and had me running down the other side and into the forest with renewed energy, and down to Drymen.

This was where the real training would begin. The road. I'd thought about it all day how I was going to reach this point, the most runnable of the day yet I was going to be knackered... and I was. This was where it counted, the part where I had to show my head that the body could do it, the pain was just something to be overcome not to be given in to. Also I knew it was going to get dark before I finished so I had to get as much ground covered in the light as possible because with my tiny torch held together with elastic bands I wouldn't be moving very fast (it was very lightweight though!) So, I dug into the depths of my reserves and started to run as even a pace as I could. After a few miles some cyclists whizzed past and then turned round and came back. " Are you the guy we saw today near Inversnaid?" they asked. When I told them I was and then after they asked me where I'd come from etc, they shook their heads and spun off down the road again. Strange chaps.

I kept my pace going nice and evenly all the way to Milngavie, except to stop for a few minutes at a bench looking over the park just to have a wee thought to myself about my journey, and at around 9.15pm, 12 1/2 hours after leaving Tyndrum I reached the door of the Milngavie chippy. Single fish, lightly salted and vinegared in hand, I walked back to my car. Mission accomplished.

Postcard From Clachnaben

Hi All

Having a great time, the weather is fantastic, blazing sunshine all the time and it's really quite warm once you get going! The locals are very friendly and a lot like us really, some of them speak quite good English as well! The food is top-class and there's even beer!

Wish you were here!

P.S Clachnaben is a Scottish Championship hill race, 10m 3500'. Photos, results